Generation Breakers: Ignition
by Sinead Rivka
Summary: .:Movieverse:. .:Story One:. After a war, after death, and after what had to happen, the Autobots know that they're going to need more help in keeping their secret a secret. And more help in keeping a certain troublemaker in line. Eventual SamOC.
1. Chapter One

Generation Breakers  
By Sinead

Chapter One  
Relevant Song: Cele De "Awakening"

.o.O.o.

_**Author's Note: **This is a work in progress, and I'll be editing it intensively for the next few weeks before I put any more of it up. Please be patient with me!_

.o.O.o.

If there ever had to be a time for the anime character of her dreams to be real, it would have to be now. There was a strain on every inch of her patience, and as a result, it wore her out. Customer service desk was a good way to learn how to be civil with people who really didn't know jack about what they were talking about. The only thing worse than standing behind The Desk at an office supply store was to be pouring coffee for the ungrateful and spoiled New England public. If there had been a wrong way to "officially" make coffee, the half-deranged, grunge-eating angry zombies on their way into Boston would certainly remind the poor Barista that it had been "officially" made wrong. At the same time, they would point out every single one of her faults, whether true or not.

There was also not a single thing to be done at The Desk, save for the very occasional customer or call. The store was dead; the weather dreary. Nothing was going a hundredth of a mile faster than a snail's crawl, which applied even to the computers and registers. _That_ was the final and last stop on the road to a headache.

Finally, punching out and two extra-strength Tylenol tablets later, the customer service representative was on her way home, biking slowly, not wanting to get winded on top of the rest of her troubles and woes. It was almost two miles to her house from her workplace, and there was a large hill halfway there. As she took it, she downshifted, keeping herself upon the bike seat while pedaling slowly, steadily. All that her mind was on was getting home, resting, and then letting the workday slide off of her shoulders.

Running across the street, she mounted the bike while upon the sidewalk, riding the bumpy, uneven blacktop, the roots of trees that had been planted between the walkway and the road pushing their way upwards as they grew. It made for an interesting ride, the skinny tires of the circa-1970s bike treading their way carefully. Cutting her way behind a Catholic church, sitting up and letting go of the handlebars, shifting her weight only slightly in order to steer the bike, she thought about how she was waiting so very patiently for news upon a ferret she wished to adopt.

Raevyn Hawkeye Starwalker was the daughter of Hippies-turned-Star-Wars-junkies. Growing up was something of an adventure, as since once she had turned asthmatic, she had the responsibility to air out any room of incense if she wished to use it. Her father, Leukyn Stonemind, was the kinder of the two parents, leaving her mother, Luna Featherwind, to be the worker, supporting the family through her government job, which she could _obviously_ not speak about. Neither Raevyn nor her two-years-younger sister Gloria Heaven, minded about that. What they minded was being the late children of people who were teenagers in the Seventies, and that they were named such _odd_ names. They also minded each other's habits and loves. When the two agreed upon something, it was going to end up being to the other party's despair, as Raevyn and Gloria _never_ agreed unless it was inevitable.

"Hawkeye" was almost a man's name, too. Ugh, sometimes she wondered what she was going to do with herself, her never-at-home mother, or her sickeningly-girlie-girl sister.

Well . . . she was nearly home . . . just around the hedge and up the driveway . . .

And almost into the bumper of a car.

An _almost-spanking-new_ car. And new to _her_ car. A car that under the layered grime and dirt was so yellow that it almost made her wince at the shade.

Seeing the symbol, _knowing_ the name of the manufacturer, she whispered in a reverent tone of one who knew expensive and beautiful cars, "Camaro . . ."

Looking up, Raevyn saw her father leaning against the hood, his brown cowboy boots old and scuffed. He never wore any other type of shoes. His once-mid-blue jeans were worn over a body that was still lean and toned, and he was wearing a white button-down shortsleeve shirt with the collar ripped off, and the front unbuttoned, the white undershirt semi-loose over a still-hard torso.

"Dad?"

"Was comin' home from th' dojo, saw _this_ beauty bein' sold, an' thought that a gal like you needed this kinda transp'rtation." Smiling, the beard that he never truly shaved all the way off stretching to show white, if not _perfect_, teeth, Leukyn indicated the hood with a sturdy but also gentle buffet with his closed fist, a thick ponytail of hair flicking around his bicep with the movement. "Owner said tha' this bugger don't start up that well, an' I tested it . . . think that ya can figger it out?"

Smiling at his soft Western accent that he had never really gotten rid of over the years of living in the hard, harsh, rapid-fire tones of Massachusetts, the daughter literally kicked the kickstand down and let the bike half-fall upon it, her helmet tossed to her father. With a practiced move, she ran her hand down the hood, then along the front end of it, feeling for the catch that would release it and let her see what kind of power she was looking at here. Finding it, she pushed at it slightly, finding a huge resistance in the action. Then, she smiled and whispered, "C'mon baby, just a peek to see what you're made of and then I'll cover you up again."

Pushing it again, it clicked as if well-oiled. Smiling, she lifted the hood, wondering if all she had to do was ask the catch to release after all. Peering down into the engine, she found no rod to keep the hood open. Shrugging slightly, she held it up with her right hand, her left getting horribly greasy as she touched a few places that had some buildup of grime. "Hey, Dad, I need to pull 'im into the garage an' clean 'im up."

Smiling as he heard her acquired accent slip forth, he nodded. "So ya know it's a dude, eh?" Giggling, letting the hood come back down and letting it fall into place with a click that sounded almost satisfied, Raevyn wiped her hand off with a rag her father had provided. He patted the roof of the dusty, mud-encrusted car. "Gloria's teachin' 'er ridin' class, then sleepin' over a friend's house. Luna won't be back 'till midnight."

"She said that she'd be telling me what's getting to be so big in the D.C. that it's got the national security watch up as high as it had been during the days after Nine-Eleven," the self-taught mechanic said quickly, wanting her father to reassure her that his wife _would_ be telling a few secrets.

He knew just what she was doing. "Honeybaby, trust me, she'll tell ya. I'll send her out to your garage. Just don't spook your sister's horses again, 'kay?" He clapped his hands together, rubbing them. "Now. Lesse if this boy'll warm up to us, eh?"

Slipping through the driver's-side door, feeling herself sink into the bucket seat, Raevyn sighed and gripped the steering wheel. Her worried eyes looked up at her father. "Is this really mine?"

"You bet. Gloria's loved horses since she could figger out what they looked like. You've just been into cars. She's got two horses, a pony, and is going to be getting another one soon, just ta rent out. You've never had yer own car yet, even though you've built all sorts o' wheeled thin's that take up space in your garage. Jest like Shy Gal's her best an' favorite show horse, ya need _your_ mascot car. Happy birthday, baby."

Looking straight ahead, swallowing and trying not to cry openly, she turned the key in the ignition, hearing the engine purr to life, a reassuring sound. Her voice was almost lost upon her father, but he smiled as he heard her whisper, "Thanks, Daddy."

"Go joyride. Your boy's got a full tank, an' I'll be payin' fer the gas for a month, just so that you can start to build up funds to keep 'im runnin. Don't come back until y'all've got y'selves tuckered out an' ready t' clean up, got it?"

Pressing the gas pedal, the engine roaring, she nodded, putting her baby into gear and turning him around smoothly. As she was about to leave the driveway, her father held out a small card. She took it, then blinked. "Dad . . ."

"Triple A. G'wan, get!" He laughed, thumping the roof of the car again. "Move ya tailpipe afore I dent ya chrome-plated bumper!"

Laughing, shoving the card in her back pocket and buckling up, Raevyn glanced both ways, glad that the only two other cards that were in her back pocket were a liscence and a debit card.

Freedom . . . how wonderful.

.o.O.o.

As her father watched the car he had bought for his black-haired, golden-eyed daughter take off, he smiled and turned to push her bike up the driveway and into the two-car garage that was used solely by Raevyn. She was growing up, all right . . . He couldn't wait to see who she would turn out to be.


	2. Chapter Two

Generation Breakers  
By Sinead

Chapter Two  
Relevant Song: Yuki Kajiura "Cynical World"

.o.O.o.

The car moved beautifully. Stopped on a dime, turned on a penny, and breezed through a brief thundershower that helped clean the odd dusty yellow coat of paint that just seemed to glow in the oddest way. As if it were almost pulsing, moving to a beat that only the car could hear. But that was silly. It was probably just her eyes playing tricks upon her, caused by the streetlights. It was wonderful to be able to move in a car that responded so perfectly to the slightest touch of her hand.

As she backed into the driveway, just over half a tank of juice remaining, she rolled up to the garage, then left the car running, parked, while she opened the garage door. Getting back into the driver's seat, she backed him up just enough so that she could walk around the Camaro with about three feet of space on all sides. Raevyn was glad that she kept the functioning half of her garage impeccable. The other half neatly stored a half-working go-cart, two ride-on lawnmowers, an engine from a 1983 Pontiac Firebird, and a few other odds and ends.

Sighing, she turned the engine off, and just sat in her . . . _her_ car, hands gently tracing the odd pattern set within the very center of the steering wheel. Without meaning to, she began talking to it, her voice soft. "Mom's not gonna tell me what it is the government's hiding this time. I don't even know what she does for a living. It . . . it pisses me off. She's never got time for me anymore, Boy. She's always rushing out in the morning, and never comes back until after I'm in bed. And whatever days she has off, she spends with that . . . _chick_ of a sister of mine." She loosened her white-knuckled grip that had been wringing the black steering wheel, then climbed out of the car, closing the door carefully.

Beginning to move everything over to the unused half of the garage, the side used for storage, the twenty-two year old continued talking. "Gloria's the perfect daughter to her. I mean, _hellfires_, the girl's name is _Gloria Heaven_, for crying out loud. She _has_ to be the perfect daughter. She rides horses, trains kids to ride horses, has horse meetings, and above all, _looks_ like she just stepped out of a show-jumping magazine, not a hair out of place, the horse groomed to within an inch of its life." Huffing, she spilled soap into a bucket, opening a valve to send water through the hose that she held in her hand, not caring that it was freezing water, and that it was barely sixty degrees in the summer night.

"I'm the first-born. I'm the failure in Mom's eyes. I'm not working in the area of my studies yet; I'm always getting _dirty_," she snarled, clearly imitating her mother's voice, possibly a tad more nasally than reality. "All I do is spend time out here tinkering with old engines, with grease and grime, almost _dragging_ it through the house to the shower." Throwing a sponge and a cloth into the sudsy water, she pulled the thick plastic sheet between the two sides. It would catch any stray water that would inevitably bounce off of the car. Her movements were angry, jerky, and tears were beginning to flow down her face. "The only person who sees me as I really am is Dad. Sis just sniffs at me, always making a face that I smell, or making a comment that I look like I just got mauled by some _car-monster_ or something. Mom doesn't understand how a tomboy like me popped outta her."

She shot the water at the car, rinsing it off thoroughly before making another comment about her life. "I mean . . . Dad's taught me everything that I could really use in my life. Taught me how to defend myself, how to _fight_. He taught me not to follow anyone's path but my own. I want to be a mechanic, and work on cars as gorgeous as you are. I want to be able to design something like you, and then _make_ 'im." With a sigh, she began scrubbing at the car, leaning in close to look at the paint itself, seeing a shimmer and shine beneath the color that gave it such a deep character. Scrubbing all that she could reach, Raevyn was glad that she had put her work-clothes in a bag that had been left here during her joyride. She never wore work clothes while biking to and from her work. "You are such a gift . . . How can I ever repay Dad for you?"

After another half hour of silence, she buffed a coat of wax on, treated the chrome, and then began an intensive cleaning of the interior. Opening a window to let the breeze through, airing out the garage, she threw the soiled water through the screen, hearing it _pop_ against flesh, fabric, and leather, which inevitably caused a piercing screech of shocked horror. Immediately, Raevyn hit the switch to close and lock both the garage doors. The light went out as well. Those two actions took her away from the window, and as she got closer to it again, her head down, moving from one deep shadow to another, her eyes adjusted to the dark, and her ears remained as sharp as ever.

"Ugh! Ah! I'll _never_ forgive her for this! Oh, my best riding chaps . . ."

Cursing almost-silently, Raevyn winced. Guess that her sister had wanted to snoop on her again.

"Nevermind your chaps . . . look at what landed on your _jacket_." Dominique, one of Gloria's entourage. Her _groupies_, who followed her everywhere. Like a pride of lionesses, they seemed all maternal and caring . . . until you got between them and what they wanted. Like a good-looking boy, or the newest Coach or Gucci bag. Then all hell broke loose.

Wait. Jacket? Uh-oh . . . Not the jacket. Please, God _not_ the jacket. That had cost Luna almost four hundred . . .

Gloria _shrieked_, her voice rising to an inhuman pitch. _"I'm gonna skin her!"_

"Can I help? I can't wait to get her back for what she did to me in the tenth grade . . ." Another goupie . . . Zita.

And Raevyn hadn't _done_ anything, other than catch the eye of one of the freshman in Harvard, Randall, on the football team. Besides, like Gloria, Zita was two years younger than Raevyn. It was a doomed infatuation on Zita's behalf. Speaking of that guy, he was supposed to call something this week to hang out over at another jock's, Darian's, garage to see the latest pit of decay that was dragged out of the back of nowhere. Darian had the _gift_ of finding a diamond in the rough.

Then again, Darian did demolition derby as a hobby.

Randall helped rebuild muscle cars. He was going to freak out about her yellow Camaro.

"_No_body gets between me and Raevyn!"

An alto-toned growl interrupted. "Is that _so_, young lady?"

Raevyn pulled up enough guts to see her mother glaring at Gloria. Luna huffed a sigh and shook her head. "Look at what you did."

"What _I_ did?! She threw that _slop_ out here _intentionally_!"

"I saw it, Mrs. Starwalker!" Dominique said with a half-whine.

"And she was laughing at Gloria, too!"

Luna chuckled smugly, and leaned towards her daughter and the other two twenty-year-olds.

All three had been hand-picked to go to a private school in Milton, a semi-city just south of Boston, and they had gotten the preppy attitude to go with it. What _wasn't_ known was that Gloria had been second-choice to go to that school. They had wanted Raevyn for her intelligence and quick thinking. They wanted to train her up, having scouted her out through a school science fair in middle school. And during the meeting that they had talked to her, her parents, and her principal about the _honor_, the _prestige_ and the _status_ that would come from going to this school, Raevyn had outright laughed and stood up. She told the recruiter that she had been accepted at another school that would teach her all that she needed to know about what she wanted to do with her life. She wanted to be a mechanic first, then make enough money to go to a car designing school.

The voice of her mother cut through her reverie. "And do you think that I am going to believe that, when I have been watching Raevyn for almost the last hour? I saw you pull in, I heard you decide to sneak up and scare the living daylights out of her. Above all, I saw how she threw the water out, and how she reacted when you clearly declared your distaste for being given a slight drenching. You three are lying. As long as you are under _my_ roof, Gloria, you will not lie, nor revert to such childish behaviors."

"But, _Mumma_, my _jacket_ . . ."

"Pay for the cleaning bill yourself, if you value the jacket so much. It's _yours_, not mine, and is as much your responsibility as those three horses of yours are." Raevyn watched as Luna took a step closer and looked down at her daughter with an iron face. "I _can_ and _will_ restrict privileges while you are here upon summer vacation. Be mindful of that. And _don't_ track any of that water through the house." Turning upon her heel, in comfortable sneakers, she knocked upon the garage door. Raevyn moved away from the window and opened it. As soon as Luna was inside, she turned the light on and looked at the car. "Your father chose well . . . I used to have a Mustang that looked almost like this. Racing stripes and all. Back just before you came into our lives."

All Raevyn could do was stare at her mother. Luna only chuckled and shrugged, closing the window and sitting upon a chair right in front of it. "Now. One your father starts to chew Gloria out a little, I can tell you about what's been going on, and how I need your help."

As if she were timing it, a snarl came echoing from the kitchen of their house, the windows open wide to catch the night breezes. "If _you_ think that yah can jest waltz in here like that and _not_ expect a reprimand, young lady . . . Oh are you _sorely_ in trouble. I heard the _entire_ thing. Zita, Dominque, go home. Gloria's grounded, and y'all're not going to see her for a few days. _Scram_."

Luna smiled very endearingly in the direction of their house. "Oh, that's why I married that man. He always says the right thing." Turning back, she didn't mince her words. "Aliens are real, and they're among us."


	3. Chapter Three

Generation Breakers  
By Sinead

Chapter Three  
Relevant Song: Imogen Heap "Headlock"

.o.O.o.

Raevyn just stared, golden eyes unblinking for almost a full minute. Shaking her head, she returned to finishing buffing her Camaro. "Nuh-uh. It's gotta be another hoax. You get them all the time, right? I mean, I'd _assume_ that you'd get them all the time."

"Not _legitimate_ ones. Not ones that spoke back to us when we spoke to _them_."

"So then how are these aliens 'among' us?"

Something in the car caught her mother's eye, and she leaned forward, staring at the dashboard and the steering column intently. After a moment, she gave a small "hunh," and shook her head. "They're cars. Vehicles of all sorts. Some good, some not-so-good. Remember that 'civilian-military experiment gone bad' in Las Vegas almost seven months back?" Luna's green-hazel eyes bored into her daughter's unique tawny gaze. "That really wasn't anything of the sort. It was the two factions of this unique race . . . fighting for control of what translates into our understanding to be called the All-Spark. Whether the event was fortunate or unfortunate, it was destroyed in that battle . . ." Luna's voice lowered a bit more in her sadness. "It was what had given their race life as we might perceive it."

Reavyn's hands slowed as she finished buffing the almost-sun-gold of the – of _her_ Camaro. Her baby. She took a deep breath and looked at her mother, the expressions upon her face registering as disappointment, disbelief, and a healthy amount of anger. "Mom . . . how can you _honestly_ expect me to believe this? Aliens? Seriously."

"I know that it's hard to accept–"

"Oh _do_ you, now? I wasn't aware that you took much notice in what I might or might not find believable. And after all the years that you've ignored me in favor of Gloria, of her obvious perfect stature as the child you've always wanted." Raevyn spat the words out, her tone clipped and sharp in the anger and pain that she normally hid from her mother's sight. "Because Gloria acts more like a _real_ girl?"

"Honey–"

"No! Don't try to placate me!"

"But your cars are–"

"I don't care! I've never had anything _close_ to what I wished to drive! The closest thing had been the go-cart that you yelled at Dad about because he got it for me without you knowing! And then _he_ had to bring it back to the store, didn't he? It wasn't stolen like you said it had been, had it?" The same truthfully hurt tone was used, and Luna was finally shown what her closed mind would _not_ accept before now.

Raevyn wasn't anyone to be told how to fit into the cookie-cutter world.

_They_ had known her daughter better than _she_ had . . . no wonder that . . . _those ones_ . . . had sent a scout to test her. A scout that was in this very room, listening, judging, and from the faint ticking noises starting to come from the engine, was getting agitated about something.

"Cars are _dangerous_, hun." _More dangerous than you'll ever know_, was the thought that had followed the statement.

"So can horses be!" Raevyn had taken enough, and her grammar indicated it. "Forget it! I'm going to Randall's tonight." Storming out of the garage, she took the outside stairs two at a time up to the second floor. It had originally been a two-family house, with separate entrances for each floor. It was a helpful thing to have when one was off with friends for a late night. Since her father was still chewing Gloria out about how she reacted and how she needed to rethink a lot of her views upon both her sister and life in itself, it meant that Raevyn was able to get a bag of clothes and essentials and a bag with her laptop and some small drafting materials in relative peace.

.o.O.o.

Down below, still in the garage, Luna sighed and rested her hand upon the car's yellow hood. "You'll take care of her, won't you? Help her see that she's one of the few who could help your kind?"

Before a reply of any kind could be made, the daughter had returned, threw the bag of clothes into the backseat, and placed her laptop bag into the passenger seat. She sat in the driver's seat and slammed the door closed, comfortable in her anger, and comfortable with the attitudes that lay between herself and her mother. They would _never_ see eye-to-eye. On _anything_. Why change it now?

She was shocked when her mother spoke. Usually when Raevyn took off Luna just stared after her as if the younger woman mystified and confused her, not as if she was filled with motherly indignation and anger. It was more as if she were puzzled by her daughter's behavior than anything else.

"When will you be back?"

Raevyn paused, then replied in a dark tone, "Couple days."

"I'll need you home no later than four days from now, please."

The two stared at each other for a long moment. Then Raevyn turned the key in the ignition and revved the engine before answering, "I'll be home by then." Staring straight ahead, she pulled out quickly, but not burning rubber as she had originally intended to. There was, however, a screech as she pulled out of the driveway and into the street, leaving faint marks behind.

Driving into the night, she decided to not head towards the highway, but took a detour completely out of the way to look at the ocean. There was a parking lot right behind some breakers, and as she pulled into it, she saw that thankfully, it was empty. Parking up close to the very low seawall, she looked out over the moonlit whitecaps, thinking about the entire conversation. Finally, in a soft whisper, she asked, "_Can_ they be real?"

The roar of a downshifting rig caused her to glance into mirrors that were perfectly placed to reflect the sight of a flame-detailed blue rig to pull into the parking lot and moved so that it was parked a little out of the way, giving her enough room to pull out if she wished to. Not five minutes later, a small silver-white sportster pulled in, parking between Raevyn and the rig. She looked back over the waves, leaning forward to rest her cheek against the wheel, sighing and wondering a little more. She heard a third car pull in, and then sat up, shaking her head. "C'mon, boy, it's too crowded here."

The engine's purr seemed to agree as they took off towards the highway.

.o.O.o.

"You know, we just passed up a _fantastic_ opportunity tonight . . ."

Optimus Prime watched Jazz pace and grumble with a kind, understanding gaze. He knew that Jazz liked to get things done fast and quick, and to the Smelter with the details. As long as it got the desired results and had at least some amusement factor, it was good by him. After another couple minutes of watching the younger bot gripe and complain about how he had wanted to get to know the human girl too, and how Bumblebee always got to have the fun in this company, Optimus finally spoke. "Jazz, would you, if you had any offspring, wish to warn them about a legitimate threat, if only to have said threat turn up in the middle of nowhere and frighten them almost to the point of persishing?"

Rachet chuckled, answering before Jazz. "I would."

"That's because _you're_ a sadistic freak," Jazz shot back without even seeming to think about the comeback. He looked at Optimus pleadingly. "C'mon, boss, I want Bumblebee back for a while. Can't we have 'im traded for someone?"

"He is doing _his_ mission. While Sam is on vacation with his parents out of _this_ country, _we_ cannot protect him to the same degree. He has his human bodyguards, and we _must_ trust in them to do what we know to be a duty and a trust that is not placed into incompetent hands. We have amnesty with this government; other countries are not be so lenient, and I well understand that. We _will_ respect their wishes." He straightened a touch, resting his weight upon his heels for a second before placing his considerable bulk evenly upon each foot. It was taking a lot of care upon his behalf so that he remembered to use words that were not so technical and precise. The more that he learned how to speak the modern English language, the easier it would be to communicate.

Ironhide blinked once, then sat carefully upon the seawall, looking out over the ocean in the direction that Sam was in– east, in Europe. He sighed, wondering what to do with himself now that there was no conflict anymore. But he would _never_ admit to be at a loss for purpose to anyone . . . unless maybe to Sam. The boy would understand him; he understood _Bumblebee_ at his most cryptic moments, after all. "So. That boy's gonna be the sane one in this venture. Interesting."

"For now, until Raevyn proves herself to be stable and subtle enough. I do not wish to tell her of our existance until Sam is back."

"So _that_ is why you have Bumblebee at her side." Rachet smirked and stretched, moving his neck in a way that loosened a few tight seals. He aimed his deadpan gaze at the smallest Autobot in their wave. "_He_ would have scared her by talking at the wrong moment. Thankfully, Bumblebee has learned from experience with Sam that discretion is a firm way to win humans over."

Jazz huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. He was the best at human mannerisms and vocabulary. "Ain't fair. I just think that we should tell 'er who she's drivin'." He moved restlessly, wanting to roam and speed along the highways for a while. There was so much to learn about this culture . . . so much that just fascinated him. Ever since coming _back_ from . . . from . . . Well. He didn't want to miss a thing before it was time for him to join those whom had gone before him . . . And thus had perished before him.

Optimus watched his warriors for a long moment more, logging and ignoring their vocalizations, preferring to concentrate upon how the three were holding themselves, how they reacted to each other. They were moving and responding smoother than even three human months before, and were manipulating their gestures more fluidly than in all the thousands of years they had known one another before landing upon Earth. It gave him cause to relax marginally, sure that they had begun recuperating from their last battle and the eons-long fight that had led up to it.

The humans had a marvelous and noticeable effect upon them _all_.

Accessing the file containing the audio of what his compatriots had been discussing (Raevyn), Optimus made a snap decision and broke into the conversation. "Jazz, trail after Bumblebee, make sure he knows that you're with him, but don't let him know what you're up to."

"What he's up to?" Rachet asked in shock. Then it hit him, seemingly in the gut with the look of complete lack of emotion he showed upon his face. "Surely _not_, Prime!"

Yet he was drowned out by the centuries-younger Jazz. "Why the change in plans?" The white bot was befuddled for once. Wasn't he just denied permission to go?

"Call it a premonition. Don't dent anyone on your way to him."

"Damn! Gone, boss!" Transforming, the quick-witted bot was gone in a flash, the smell of burnt rubber lingering. So Optimus was going to let him tell the girl who they were when the time came. That was _cool_. Of course, it would have to be done in his style.

The medic sighed and watched after the disappearing form of the sportster. "Why'd you let him go and do that? She'll be traumatized."

"I have faith in Jazz. He understands humans better than you or I do at the moment." Optimus looked up at the night sky, clouds drifting between him and the stars.

"Humph. Back from the dead, and he's more irrepressible than before."

Chuckling to himself, the Autobot leader moved his gaze down to the ocean, then over at Ironhide and Rachet. The two old, dour wardogs, while not truly pessimistic, were without doubt very tired and jaded about those around him. Jazz and Bumblebee were quite a bit younger, and now that the war was over, were enjoying themselves to the fullest. They were acting at the age their young friend Sam Witwickey was at . . . only in a Cybertronian equivalent. They acted out; and were truly living every moment to its greatest capacity.

"Optimus, do you really enjoy our pain?"

The largest of Autobots blinked his blue optic sensors at his weapons specialist. "Ironhide? Why ask that?"

Ironhide made an electronic noise of disapproval, as if he were a human sniffing his aloof distaste for a young person of "lower" status. "Well, ah, those younglin's aren't makin' it any easier f'r us to keep discipline firm."

"You speak truthfully, and I am in full agreement with your observation.." Optimus expressed his mirth in the human way– with a chuckle. "And I am well sure that they will, without a doubt, revert to battle subroutines if the need arises. Until that point, I am willing to let them enjoy themselves." He turned a stern eye upon his peers. "As I will recommend the same to you two. I, personally, have had enough of war."

Rachet sighed, shaking his head. "Very well. This . . . 'enjoying ourselves' . . . how would you propose we do that?"

Transforming and turning towards the road, the semi made a small, decidedly electronic noise of dual happy contentedness as he received a burst transmission from Jazz that he found something interesting and wanted his leader to come take a look at it. "That's up to you two 'old men' to find out for yourselves. I'm off to explore."

Ironhide watched the leader roll away, disapproving of the whole idea of relaxation. He was a _warrior_. A fighter. And the war and the fight were over . . . hopefully. Optimus didn't believe that the Decepticons left out in the vastness of the universe would cause any trouble in the next few centuries. But that didn't mean that he, Ironhide, would want to go and let his battle edge dull in that time.

But what to do?

"You know, Rachet, I just have t' wonder at his logic, sometimes."

"You and I both," the medic grouched. "Now what?"

"I . . . don't know."

.o.O.o.

Bumblebee was cruising, going decidedly faster than the local speed limits for the highway. But he didn't mind. He wasn't going to get caught, and truth be told, the speeding was exactly what he needed. In the more responsible part of his mind, he knew that at any time, he could control his motions with infinitely more ease and grace than this human female was capable of. Yet at the same time, he enjoyed bearing witness to how Raevyn drove with skill and confidence, cursing if she thought that she had been cutting it too close to another car or immovable objects. There had been a few, but not _too_ many, instances that had she been driving a _normal_ Camaro, it would have been scratched up something horrible. Bumblebee liked his paint job, thank-you-very-much, and he liked showing it off. Which meant driving fast. And jamming the local law enforcement's scanners and speedtraps.

That had been something that flickered across Raevyn's mind. She was almost at ninety miles an hour in some places, sometimes faster. It was more than odd that no sirens had begun to follow her around. She had already passed several speed traps that the locals knew of and that held up traffic during rush hours. Finally, she could take no more of simple speed. She took off up an off-ramp, planning to turn to her right to head into the perpetually-unlocked-if-unlawful-after-a-certain-time Blue Hills Reservation, which housed conservation land and a few old and historic buildings.

But the timing was unfortunate. A driver, considerably inebriated enough to think that he was driving _safely_, was turning to get onto the highway, unaware that the on ramp was two hundred feet further down upon his left. He wished to go north on the southbound side. He was heading directly for Raevyn and the alt-moded Bumblebee.

Seeing the lights, Raevyn didn't waste her breath or time in cursing her luck. Instinct to avoid the oncoming car kicked in, and she wrenched the steering wheel to her right, succeeding in avoiding the oncoming drunk and going onto the thin lane of grass between the ramp and the trees. However, her action caused the car to start to tip slightly onto its driver-side wheels.

The wheel jerked out of her grip, turning a tighter circle, the passenger-side door flinging itself open to add mass to the inner side of the half-circle that had been made by the Camaro. They were now facing the wrong way on the off-ramp, looking back the way that they had come.

Raevyn stared through the windshield in mute shock. But this shock wasn't of how her car had moved on its own. It was because of what she was looking at. The drunk hadn't gotten too far. In fact . . . the car he had been driving had been . . . had been stopped.

Jazz stared right back at Raevyn from his crouched position of catching the car and disabling its ignition and engine with simple acoustics. The position of how he held his arms and legs were that of one who knew they had been caught and knew that some gentle explanation should be made. Nodding once, he sent a burst transmission to Optimus, not telling the leader that Raevyn just found them out, but that he had found a situation interesting.

Bumblebee turned himself around and took off, knowing full well that Jazz would be able to effortlessly follow his energy signature. There was also a high chance of Prime showing up. That wouldn't be much of a problem, since it would probably be a good thing that someone who had such a great talent for not only leading well, but for understanding emotions and simply being able to help humans _override_ their own emotions with a logical, yet kind, and different outlook to any given situation.

If Jazz didn't tease them into that way of thinking first.

The Camaro went deeper into the conservation land, keeping a tight look upon the vitals of the human sitting in his drivers' seat. She was in a state of semi-shock, but otherwise doing very well, given the circumstance. He ended up in a small parking lot that overlooked much of the South Shore, which were the suburban cities and towns that lay south of Boston, the state capital of Massachusetts.

Pulling into a parking space and cutting his engine, he moved his sideview mirrors so that they were perfect for the young woman sitting in him to see the white sportster roll quietly into view, hesitate, then come up to Bumblebee's left. He transformed and sat, sighing and watching Raevyn.

Would she let him be what Bumblebee was to Sam?


	4. Chapter Four

Generation Breakers  
By Sinead

Chapter Four  
Relevant Song: Cat Power "I Found a Reason"

.o.O.o.

Raevyn stared at the robot _hard_, two halves of her mind warring with each other. One half of her was fascinated with the entire transformation of the car into the humanoid, while the other half was still in shock, wanting to blubber and curl up and cry herself to sleep, just like how she had when she was scared and much, much younger.

But eventually, the curious side of her mind won out, and she leaned very, very slightly towards the window. In response to her movement, the window slid downwards, into the door, letting the midnight breeze play among the dark, wavy hair. She rested her hand upon the steering wheel just as her seatbelt released upon its own accord, and the car shook itself much like a dog, the passenger seat hopping in an odd way to lightly bounce the laptop-bag into her lap, and then bouncing her gently out onto the blacktop, her clothing-bag following her out and landing at her feet.

During that whole interaction between herself and "her" car, Jazz managed to keep an air of complete relaxation, a smile plastered over his face. She was adjusting well to the idea that they were not quite what one would call normal cars. He kept his voice quiet, tender. Not too long ago, it would have been very hard to do just that, due to his nature, but certain events had given him the aptitude for connecting with human emotions. He kept his words in proper English, not letting the slurring of his adopted accent come into play. "Raevyn Hawkeye, I am so very happy to finally meet you."

Her eyes blinked twice rapidly, and the golden orbs widened only slightly as they turned to look up at the smallest of Autobots. "You . . . talk."

Jazz chuckled kindly, then nodded twice. "Yes, we do. And I've heard a great many things about you. I'm Jazz, and the one whom you had been traveling with is called Bumblebee."

Raevyn turned to look at Jazz completely, shifting and tilting her head to one side very slightly in a silent question. Jazz shook his head in reply, having studied human expressions and body language very closely in the last few months. He knew what she was referring to. "He doesn't . . . talk. Big bad battle a coupla millennia ago took out his vocals, and there's just been glitches with trying to fix it ever since. Pity, since I miss annoying Rachet and Ironhide with our verbal pollution."

Raevyn looked back at the now-introduced sun-bright Camaro, her sadness at not being able to hear his own, unique voice apparent in her gaze. Taking his cue from her look that it was all right to transform, Bumblebee did so, sitting down beside her and gently brushing a fingertip across her cheek as if to wipe a tear. Blinking, Raevyn smiled and nodded, understanding. "I shouldn't cry about it, huh? It's an old wound and it's all right now."

Bumblebee nodded, resting a few fingertips along her back in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. He did indeed speak when absolutely necessary, but . . . to him . . . the actions were so much more sweet and precious than spoken words could ever be. Behind Raevyn, Jazz nodded, indicating that his larger companion was doing the right thing through his motions. The human woman looked back at Jazz, leaning very slightly against the fingers that rested behind her back. "You know . . . my mother was just warning me about your kind before she and I got into a tiff . . . and I took Bumblebee for a joyride."

Jazz groaned. "Fantastic. Luna always had the worst timing. She's been adamant that we not truly contact you for another year or so." Grinning widely, Jazz made a show of lounging back upon a small spit of grass, nearly taking out a picnic table as he did so. "But I make it a _really_ bad habit of ignoring her."

"And she doesn't guilt-trip you or make you feel like crap for not listening to her?"

Bumblebee tilted his head to one side, then shrugged and the old song "She Drives Me Crazy" echoed softly between the three beings, supplied by Bumblebee's speakers. Cackling, the human nodded. "Yeah, that about answers my question, huh?"

Jazz spoke up again. "Bumblebee is the official guardian of Sam Witwicky, the direct descendant of Archibald Witwicky, who discovered Megatron and the AllSpark." He knew that she wouldn't have heard about this kind of information. It was of the need-to-know kind, and truly, there weren't many people who needed to know about this. He shifted, explaining the significance of who this personage was, and what the AllSpark was to the Transformer race. Pausing after this semi-lengthy speech, the smallest Autobot hesitated. "Sam saved all of us . . . he's the bravest critter from your kind that I've managed to pinpoint. Sure, you have your _own_ kinds of human heroes . . . but he's the first of a kind."

"Eh? What 'kind'?" Raevyn asked, moving to reach over and touch Bumblebee's hand, feeling him still all his movements to as not to hurt her unintentionally. She smiled at the Autobot, then scrambled up onto hid leg and sat upon his folded knee.

"The kind that you'll be the third official member of. Humans who totally, utterly, and completely do not fear my kind." Jazz had used his most soft and reassuring, kind tones. Being a singer of sorts truly let one realize how to use and recognize emotions within a voice.

"Uh, third?"

Jazz stuttered slightly, trying to make himself think like a human for how to explain these things. "Ah . . . eh . . . Sam has a girlfriend. She's almost to the level of total acceptance that Sam has for us." Sitting up, the smallest Autobot rested his head upon one hand, about to say more when a semi rolled into view, oddly silent for the size of the engine, Raevyn surmised. But after a closer inspection, she saw that it was the same exact flame-decaled semi that had pulled in alongside her at the beach. When it reared up, transforming, Raevyn was only mildly shocked at this new twist. But what happened next just blew her out of the water.

She was picked up. This new robot had _picked her up_. He was so gentle so as not to harm her, almost acting as if she were a kitten made of glass. His voice was warm as he spoke to her, holding her in the palms of his two massive hands. "I apologize that you have not had time to adjust to the circumstances that Luna Starwalker spoke to you of. I had not been planned to go this way."

"Well, not _entirely_, Prime." Jazz looked to Bumblebee, who shrugged and indicated that Jazz should continue. The sportster did. "Bumblebee could have turned in any other direction, could have done so much worse, but he chose to reveal me."

"Is that true, Bumblebee?" The blue gaze rested upon the second-smallest of the Autobots. Prime wasn't angry, but merely curious about what could possibly have convinced Bumblebee that Raevyn was to be proven of their existence so soon after she was told of them.

Nodding, the sun-bright Autobot moved to stand again, looming between all three beings before miming an apology to his leader. Jazz continued."Began to explain a few things to Hawkeye while we waited for you."

Prime chuckled and set the human back down, only to watch her lean against Bumblebee's leg and watch him with a gaze that seemed to not leave out a single detail. Her voice was strong as she addressed the leader. "So if you have two people who are already able to deal with your . . . uh . . . uniqueness, why bother with a third?"

"Hm." Prime deliberated over this answer, and the pause was noticeable even to the young mechanic. "I suppose that the best way to explain it is that we have need."

"Need?"

"I know your entire history, down to which bones you had broken when you were seven."

"Then you _also_ must know that _that_ had been purely my sister's fault."

Prime chuckled, nodding. "Yes, it was indeed her that spooked the horse you were riding. She wasn't being very nice. But that is besides the point. As I have already said, I know your entire history. The same is for my companions. They wished to know the natures of the candidates. From those candidates, the only one that we all agreed who should enter our circle is you. I had specifically asked Bumblebee and Jazz start to help me pose this proposition to you. That is why your father 'bought' you a new car, and that is why you were being followed."

"Not very discreetly on your side," Jazz said with a smile. "Gathering at the beach? I thought that _that_ was something that I was going to deal with alone."

"My apologies. I feel that we had been a touch . . . eager to get to know you, Raevyn." Optimus seemed to wince and sigh. He then shook his head and moved to crouch, then sit before the human girl. "I wish to ask you if you would consider being an assistant medic to Ratchet, the third of my group."

"M-medic?" The young woman's face began to drain of all color. "I . . . I _really_ don't do well with blood . . . sir."

Jazz laughed, then shook his head. "What the boss is sayin' is a medic for _our_ kind. Mechanical. Not . . . messy flesh like you and the rest of the icky, squishy organisms on this planet." He winked and shrugged confidently.

That got Raevyn to laugh nervously, resting a hand upon Bumblebee's knee to lean against him a bit more. "But why would you need a human?"

Grinning widely, Jazz sat up from where he had been semi-reclining. Leaning forward, he asked, "Have you _seen_ our . . . no, sorry. I know that you've not seen Ratchet. His mitts 're _massive_."

"Hmph. Jazz seems to have been picking up your vernacular rather quickly," a new voice said, a touch grouchy and irritable. A yellow and red emergency vehicle rolled around a bend in the road to come into view. "And I beg to differ, you sorry excuse for a spy. I am in perfect classic Cybertronian proportions."

"They why are your hands so huge?" Jazz asked, a plaintive note in his expressive voice. "They hurt!"

"This could go down the gutter _very_ quickly," Raevyn muttered. Bumblebee apparently both heard and understood the term, for he nodded solemnly before uttering a few odd cough-like noises. Raevyn was about to ask if he was all right, when Ratchet transformed and pointed to the second-smallest.

"Glad that you're amused by all this! Now get over here so that I can get at that grime build-up you got from going throught that mudpit on the way over here." Ratchet took a step aside to make room for Bumblebee beside where the medic had been standing. The Camaro, however, shook his head, gesturing at Raevyn and using a few other signs and gestures, none of which the human could interpret.

But Ratchet could.

"She . . . did . . . _what_?!"

Jazz, having seen what Bumblebee had signed, roared with laughter, throwing his head back. Bumblebee looked the very picture of naieve innocence. And, since he apparently couldn't talk, Raevyn looked up to Optimus. "What'd I just miss?"

The leader's optics were somehow overflowing with mirth and a touch of pleasure. At what, Raevyn could only guess at. He spoke. "I have to wonder at what you find humorous."

The human was truly honest in her answer. "Wierd things. Odd phrases. Good old fashioned black humor, sarcasm, cynicism, and innuendo. Why?"

"Ah. Well. Bumblebee's been looking for a way to get Ratchet to freak out about something, _anything_, and to do so in public. He just found a way, since we now are able to identify with our alternate modes with ease."

"C'mon, don't leave me hanging. What did he say?"

Optimus laughed. "That you had gotten under his hood, and that he was looking forward to the same experience in the near future."

Blinking, Raevyn opened her mouth, paused, then looked up at "her" car. Finally, she looked back at the largest of the Autobots. "Is that a reference to what I think it is? Because if so, Bumbles just earned my utmost respect."

"Sure got _my_ attention! Can I be next?" Jazz piped up. He laughed a little more before calming down. "I'll tell you, Hawkeye, I've never seen 'im get so comfortable with anyone--"

"Sam," Ratchet interrupted, still glaring at the other (and brighter) yellow bot. "And I'll bet anything on the fact that there's a reason behind it, too."

Bumblebee nodded and carefully sat down again, making Raevyn's former perch available. She took it as her seat again, one knee pulled up to her chest, the other leg relaxed and hanging down. Bumblebee made another gesture, which caused Ratchet to grumble, "No, I'm _not_ guessing why, you irresponsible young fool."

"I will!" came the enthusiastic reply from Jazz. He sat up completely again, raising his hand as if he were in a human children's school class. "Is it because they're cute babies in comparison to us?"

A shake of his head and the human gesture for "next one" was used by Bumblebee. While they continued on and played their guessing game, Raevyn asked of Optimus Prime, "So you really know my Mom, huh?"

His reply was kind, meant to reassure. "Yes. I find that she is a strong person, although sometimes a touch too strong and possessive, and not very forgiving of honest mistakes that others make. Even the mistakes that myself and my crew have made."

That caused Raevyn to look at his face closely. "Yet you and your kind are infants to our culture. Mistakes are supposed to be made in situations like the one that you're in." She bit her lip, then asked quietly, "Can . . . we talk? Privately?" The young woman was not just curious about the leader of these odd non-organic sentient beings . . . she wanted to know why her mother was the way that she was. Chances were that Prime knew the reasons why. And that meant talking with him, with this fantastic living machine.

Optimus nodded, then surprised her one step further. "I was contacted not more than forty-five of your minutes ago, told of what had happened between yourself and your mother." Moving carefully, Optimus sat so that he was sitting cross-legged, the same as the sometimes-Camaro that Raevyn was sitting on.

"They're good with their hands!" Jazz said louder than the previous guesses, pointing to Raevyn. Bumblebee seemed to consider the comment before sighing something, amused, Ratchet was lost upon the innuendo, and a black Autobot walked up, laughing as he translated Bumblebee's signs, "True, but try again. Haw!" He leaned in closer, nodding to Raevyn. "Name's Ironhide, Miz Hawkeye. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," Raevyn replied before hopping off of Bumblebee's leg, picking her bags up of the cement to rest them upon the picnic table. She shook her finger in warning at Jazz. "My computer is in there. See this bag?"

"I do sense electronics in it, yes," Jazz replied, grinning. "Valuable?"

"Prolly not to you, since you've got more computing power in your left hand than what I'm lugging about. But anyways, yes, it _is_ valuable. If only to me."

"Then I won't harm it."

"Thanks." She turned away from him and walked closer to Optimus. She didn't see Jazz pick up the bag with the computer in it, using his much-smaller-than-Ratchet hands to open it silently. While he was doing that, he was still rocketing off guesses that he knew were totally off the mark as to why Bumblebee liked to be around humans. As he began to fiddle with the timy computer, changing a setting here, physically converting a component to a Cybertronian one with the merest use of concentrated energy, Ratchet leaned over his shoulder, giving suggestions for what else this computer should be capable of, for the training purposes he had in mind for the human he was going to be sharing with Jazz for what amounted to a brief time in their ways of measurement.

Raevyn Hawkeye was walking over to Optimus as all that had been going on behind her. Climbing to his knee, she felt that she shouldn't go any higher, but this being seemed to be full of surprises for her as he picked her up as gently as before and placed her upon his shoulder. His voice was much lower in volume as he addressed the twenty-two-year-old. "New we can talk in relative privacy. I have set up a slight damping field. The effect is that humans will not be able to hear you, and to my comrades, your loudest shout is but a normal tone."

"Thank you." She seemed relieved, and in truth, she was. And as she sat and looked up at the stars, asked, "How long has my mother known of your kind?"

"Close to sixteen years, now. She was inducted into your intelligence department when she stumbled upon a sensitive issue concerning our race." He seemed to not mind answering her questions.

"How could she have done that? The computers back then . . ." Raevyn paused, then whispered, "She hacked in. She's always been good with computers and contemptuous of the government."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It is not said in the records that we have access to." Prime tilted his head a little, then spoke again, his voice holding a smile. "Does this intrigue you? How your mother started upon the path that she is walking upon now?"

"Yeah. To say the least." Sighing, the young woman shook her head, catching the sight of Jazz putting the computer back into the bag. Having watched Jazz this entire time, Optimus wisely let down the damping field. Standing, Raevyn pointed to him, body language tense. "Hey! I thought that I told you not to touch it!"

"No," Jazz chuckled, "ya specifically asked me not t' _harm_ it." He stood and walked over to where she was just above the height of his head on Optimus' shoulder. His metal hands were careful as he held the bag up to her. "Check. See if I'm lying."

"You're awfully gentle today, Jazz," Ironhide said in a curious growl. To him, it was odd to she the outgoing one so subdued. Perhaps it had something to do with seeing, no, actually _being_ upon the other side.

"He's smitten, trying to woo the next love of his life," Ratchet said with the hints of a very dry sense of humor in his voice, having cornered Bumblebee and gotten under some armor to repair an odd malfunction that the little Camaro had mentioned.

"What?!" the white bot yelped, staring at the company medic.

Optimus chuckled low enough that only Raevyn and the offended bot heard it. Jazz looked mortified, and was starting to stutter that he only wished to make friends. But Raevyn, having not taken the laptop bag back, merely clambered down Optimus' arm, startling the Autobots with her fearlessness and audacity. Jazz reached over and up a bit when she seemed a touch stuck, saving her pride from asking if she could get a little help, and with a grateful look, she, again fearlessly, went to him to sit upon his much smaller shoulder. "Let me see what you did with my machine."

"Ooo, it's _looooove_," a deep and sensual voice echoed forth from Bumblebee's speakers.

Raevyn gave the yellow bot a one-fingered salute, which was answered by his odd chuckle and a wink. She took the bag from Jazz's fingers, opening it and turning on her laptop. There was literally no pause to wait through while the operating system booted. The superficial look of the computer and the OS were the same, but the speed was beyond fast. Looking over at Jazz's face, she asked, "What did you do to it?"

"Find out yourself!" He teased, very gently closing the laptop and smiling. "_After_ a joyride."

The prospect of going fast in an obvious muscle car, completely customized and tricked-out in a way that no human could ever dream of doing, well, to say that it both thrilled and scared her would be slightly understating the truth. But her voice was steady. "Sure. But what about the local law enforcement?"

"Ah, we jam their scanners on a regular basis. Even _if_ Prime frowns upon it the same way he's frowning now." He brushed the question off as merely and only a slight worry for humans. He had never crashed before, in _any_ form, and he never would. Well, unless it was to protect the humans, to protect the peoples and individuals that he had come to love. He was the perfect safe driver.

"Joyride, huh?" Raevyn asked, grinning, golden eyes slowly brightening with the prospect. "You know, I think that those just might be my magic words."

"And I won't ever run outta gas, either!" Jazz quipped, _some_how giving the impression of winking. He knew how that phrase could be taken a few different ways.

Giggling, the mechanic put her laptop safely into her bag, slinging it over her shoulders and climbing down to the ground. Walking over to her other bag, she looked up at Bumblebee. "D'ya mind being traded in, Bumbles?"

The sun-colored mechanoid shook his head, finding the song equivalent of "I've got someone waiting for me back home" and playing part of it. Ratchet clarified, "He has his own human to guard over and to have as a companion to help him adjust to this culture . . . however inadequate that boy may be."

"Hey!" Jazz snapped, stepping around Raevyn to move towards the medic-bot, his body language slightly menacing.

"Jazz! Ratchet!" Prime boomed, the bass of his voice causing Raevyn to turn and face him, having actually felt the soundwaves in the air. He didn't stand, but then again, he didn't have to. The tone of his voice was warning enough. "Why must you fight?"

Ratchet spoke before Jazz could, his syllables clipped and angry. "If he is to be Bumblebee's partner, he should have picked up at least _some_ of our obvious anatomical quirks! The fact that he hasn't even _begun_ to understand a basic _human automotive_ engine--"

"Enough, Ratchet," the leader growled, settling back to sigh and shake his head. "To each their own. You know this. You cannot be a spy any more than Jazz or Bumblebee could be a medic and technician."

"So that's why you chose me. Why my mother and father raised me the way that they did." The small, feminine voice belonged to none of the 'bots, all of whom had masculine voices and mannerisms. As one, they looked to Raevyn. She was rolling her sleeves back up past her elbows, her gaze somewhere between all of the Autobots and yet, past them. "So that's been the grand scheme of things. Good. There's my reason." Her gaze came back to those around her, and she asked, "Is my position of teaching this boy temporary?"

"Teaching?" Ironhide asked, his dark form coming out from the shadows again as he spoke. Tilting his head to one side, he blinked at the human. "Didn't think you had _that_ in y'r job description."

"Considering that I have a _rather_ hazy view of what my job is to be, I hope that you'd elaborate upon what I am and am not to do." Her speeck was as frank as possible without dipping into the side of being rude. It was seeing the situation straight and clearly, not pausing to sugarcoat her words. Her gaze was just as straightforward.

Ratchet was about to step forward when, surprisigly, Jazz held his hand up and interrupted the medic before he could actually say anything. "Let me." Chuckling, he shook his head. "Hawkeye, eh? . . . Ya really live up to your name. Seeing through a lotta crap and focusin' intently upon y'r prey." Going solemn and watching her, the bot chose his words carefully. "I . . . I guess that it comes down t' me. I've been watchin' everyone who has been connected in some way to the government. Specifically, to what had been Sector Seven, which is now under some new name that I, personally, haven't looked into. Your mother's been a great help to that agency. She has been doing a lotta th' cover-up work, t' divert leads. None of the people born to those who have been in the Sector show the promise that _you_ do, and that same promise that you've lived up to." Thinking for a second, he then said, "The job description is that you become my partner, to help me be adjusted into the human culture. Even though I really don' need ya to. I'm just bein' a lonely wretch." At the few chuckles that came up, Jazz smiled and continued. "The secondary nature of that partnership is, and I'm thankful that you've got the aptitude for it, of the mechanical kind. If something goes wrong at an odd moment, it could prevent my transformation, makin' it dangerous for you and for the innocent lives around ya."

That was good to know. "What promise is it that you spoke of?" It was odd to hear what she had believed to be a human concept come from a mechanical being.

Smiling, the silvery-white bot replied, "T' be completely open-minded an' acceptin' of who we are."

Staring at him for a moment longer, Raevyn simply nodded once, then looked to all the others, ending at Prime. The leader nodded and said softly, "Think this over. You can't expect to make a decision on something this big on such short notice."

"Joyride?" Jazz prompted, quietly, hopefully. He _really_ wanted to just take off with her. "I promise that I won't go over a hundred! Really!"

Ratchet just groaned, having taken on the human habit of hiding one's face when they really didn't want to deal with something. "If you blow something vital, I'll kill you after I fix you."

"Oh, go breathe in your own exhaust, you grouch." Jazz transformed back into his alternate mode, then opened his drivers' side door, the engine an angry mutter as Raevyn shook her head at the bickering.

"Boys, I'm not gonna be won over by anyone 'one-upping' the other. Jazz, you're mine. Bumblebee, I'm sorry, luv, but you've been traded."

A few signals and a wink later left Jazz and Ironhide, if they had been human, all but choking, they were laughing so hard. Optimus sighed, trying to summon up patience to deal with his warriors. "I am _not_ translating that."

"Oh, I'll just ask Jazz later," replied the young woman flippantly, patting the large leg.

"Don't!" Jazz laughed. "Because I'm telling you now!" He tried valiently to get his laughter under control again, then gave up for a long time. He wouldn't tell anyone, but it had been a long time since he had felt free enough to laugh, feeling the hand of a partner resting upon his frame. "He said that as long as I'm the 'legal wife,' he'd be the 'illicit lover."

Barking a laugh, Raevyn darted over to Bumblebee, only to be lifted up to his head and given a very, very gentle hug against the side of the Autobot's face. Raevyn kissed what passed as his cheek, and then hugged the sun-bright head. "I think that can be arranged. Come over whenever, you know?"

A nod and a rub across her shoulders later, the young woman was upon the ground again, about to get into Jazz's driver's side. Pausing, she looked up at Ratchet. "You get me as an apprentice, so that . . . whaddya call 'im . . . S . . . S . . . something. Spike. Callin' him Spike."

"Sam," Prime corrected gently.

"Yeah, I think that I'd rather call him Spike," Raevyn replied to his correction, overriding the general preference of nomenclature. "Hope he doesn't mind. Anywhos, Ratchet, you teach me what you want me to know--"

"Everything," the large bot interrupted.

"Right. And I'll turn this kid into a grease-monkey." But a wicked grin spread over her face and she stepped around Jazz's door, closing it. "C'mon, joyride in a moment. You'll want to hear what I've got planned on how to get this kid into the thick of things mechanics-wise."

Doing so, the car looked down at her, then sat. She promptly leaned against his arm, smirking. "Okay, this is going to freak this poor pup out, but in the long run, he'll know a few things about _your_ engine, Bumblebee. And you'll be running better when you're a car as my bribe to you for helping me freak this kid out."

The Camaro tilted his head to one side, listening to her plan as she laid it out, nodding at a few points.

But by the time she was done telling them all, he was laughing hard, his true voice ringing out over the small crowd to shock Raevyn. Picking her up in another hug, the Autobot was just plain _happy_ to be causing trouble again.


	5. Chapter Five

Generation Breakers  
By Sinead

Chapter Five  
Revelant Song: Natasha Bedingfield "Peace of Me"

.o.O.o.

It had been a month since Raevyn and Jazz had met. And what a month it had been! For that month, she hadn't shown off her "car" to anyone, instead using the time to just get used to each other and get used to small quirks. When she had shown him off, she had also brought a picture of Bumblebee to mess with her friends, walking in to show it off, holding the picture up to grin triumphantly. When she broke it to them that she had traded in a _brand new_ Camaro, they nearly killed her. In fact, the group of guys had literally chased her out of the house, into the front yard, where the Pontiac Solstice was sitting all pretty and shiny from a fresh wash.

They nearly killed her again, this time to take her car.

Jazz was one very happy, preening fellow after that, so _very_ happy with his choice of his alternate mode. So much so, that he had forgotten to jam the law enforcement's radars, speeding near a hundred miles an hour down a stretch with a limit of sixty-five on the highway.

Having gotten home, confessing guiltily that she, and Jazz, had been caught speeding, Luna had nearly killed her. Leukyn, on the other hand, had just laughed, asking, "What'd they clock yah at?"

"Ninety-seven."

"Whoo! How'd it feel, baby-girl?"

Raevyn grinned widely and replied, "Wonderful."

Luna spat a curse out and left, knowing and seeing that she wasn't going to win against her husband. It had been discussed before that speeding tickets were no joking matter, but she knew that the formerly-named Sector Seven would pay it off. Her daughter would have no obligations to pay off a speeding ticket that, ultimately, Jazz was responsible for. Seeing his wife storm off, Leukyn grinned and thumbed towards the separate-from-the-house garage, standing from the kitchen table and walking towards the door. Grabbing her laptop bag, Raevyn followed him, opening the side-door, a normal door that had been salvaged and installed into the side of the small two-car garage specifically so that any heat that was in the small building wouldn't be lost in the winter.

"So! Speedin' with mah daughter, are yah?"

"She drives well!" Jazz replied, defending himself. "I might be the one with the speed, but she's got a touch for drivin' that I doubt I'll ever see again. So what's this you said 'bout details?"

Raevyn brushed her hand over Jazz's hood, walking over to set her laptop up on the workbench, plugging it in before turning it on. While the battery's life had been upgraded with the rest of it, there were some things that just caused it to drain faster than other processes. Like holographic work. She accessed a program that worked much like the communications devices that the Autobots used. It provided both an audio and a visual feed, and as she "called" Ratchet, she cleared the bench of any small objects. He picked up with, "You're late."

"I got pulled over. Jazz was speeding, and forgot to scramble the cops' scanners."

"Thanks, Jazz, I owe you for putting my student into detention. I oughta fry something _else_ in your logic centers." The older-looking metal face was screwed up in a look of worn patience. Before Jazz could retort, however, he spoke again. "Raevyn, are you ready for the next lesson?"

"Always. What's it today?"

As they got into the technicalities of Cybertronian design and anatomy, Leukyn sat upon a stool and pulled out his automotive paints. Swiftly, he began to paint while he and Jazz kept a conversation running between them. They were planning this from the beginning. It was a small detail art job. When Bumblebee had come and spent time with them, he had asked for one when he had seen the father do a few custom jobs on other hotrods. So Jazz had secretly asked for one, and had drawn out something that he had liked. It was a small thing, very well done and well-concieved, a small reminder of the friendship and partnership that he and Sam Witwicky shared.

When Jazz saw it, he just _had_ to have one.

Raevyn was well into the mock procedure of how to repair a severed optic wire bundle as she thought about the last month. It was something so very wonderful to look back upon. The times where she had fallen asleep while trying to keep going through the computer-file manuals of the Cybertronian anatomy. She had literally fallen asleep while sitting upon Jazz's arm or leg, waking up later on with padding of some sort between herself and the metal appendage. And he was always awake when she came back to the world of the living, greeting her with a smile and a nod. Not to mention alongside a tease that she had fallen asleep because of the boring material, not because she had worked herself to the bone earlier in the day while taking apart small engines, cleaning them, and putting them back together for the auto garage down the street and around a few corners.

Unable to keep himself from the urge to tease her about being so totally involved with the studies that she was undertaking, he had to have some fun and compete for her attention. In short, he popped his passenger's side door open to bump it against her muscled rump. She was leaning over a workbench where a hologram was playing out over it's rough wooden surface, poking around and working with artificially-weighted light.

Without looking or even breaking concentration, her hands as steady as before Jazz had bumped her, Raevyn Hawkeye kicked the door shut absently. "Ratchet, I put this converter halfway between these two points; does it have to be evenly placed?"

"Ouch. When you ignore me, it _hurts_."

Ratchet's voice sounded tinny and digitalized though the laptop speakers, also ignoring Jazz, but for different reasons. "Not particularly. It doesn't have to be precise, only close."

"Oh, good. Okay."

"When you're also doing this kind of--" Breaking off, he simply growled out in his "annoyed with humans" tone, "Jazz, Bumblebee is on his way to replace you. Sam came back sooner than we had planned."

"Daaaaamn!" Jazz whined, sighing in dismay. He really wanted to spend a little more time with his human before being pulled away.

"Ratchet out." But on the screen, words appeared swiftly, scrolling from left to right. "I'll quiz you on this when I get there in a few days, Hawkeye. Kid's around talking to Prime, and we snuck Bumblebee out just before he could be seen."

Speaking in the direction of the built-in microphone, knowing that as it had been up until the point when the first human to be partnered with an Autobot had walked in, only he could hear her on his end. "No worries. I'll send Jazz there within the next two hours."

"Don't fuss over him too much."

The line cut, and Raevyn paused the hologram, looking to Leukyn. The father smiled, gave Jazz a friendly slap on his roof, the equivalent of one man slapping the other's shoulder. "See ya when y'all get back, Jazz. Don't get intah any _more_ trouble."

"What, and make life boring?"

"Ha! That's m' boy!" Leukyn roared, laughing as he sprayed a state-of-the-art paint drying agent over the decal. Leaning in close to inspect it, he then nodded and said, "Okay, it's done. Raevyn, lemme know whatcha think of it when ya come back in t'night."

The father didn't even stay one second longer than he absolutely had to. Within seconds, the two were alone, and the outdoor lights were turned off from the main house. The only lighting that was left was from the overhead light in the garage. Raevyn closed the clamshell on her laptop, looking at the silver car beside her. Quietly, she asked, "So what was he doing?"

Jazz's reply was likewise soft. "Come look."

Walking around the hood of the sometimes-car to the driver's side, looking for it. When she did, she smiled. It was right behind the weel, on the edge of the door itself. It was both small and tasteful, masculine and beautiful all at the same time. The emblem was a hawk in flight, floating over a golden orb with the Autobot insignia within its center. "Jazz . . . it's beautiful."

"Just for you. Planned it so that when I'm transformed, it'll be on my hip."

"Not very muscle-car of you."

"Hey! That's _stylish_ muscle-car to you, babe." Jazz laughed, shaking himself so very much like a dog and then popped his trunk, hood and doors before shutting them with airtight, well-oiled pops. During that small demonstration, he had risen up a touch higher than normal upon his wheels. Raevyn knew the signs as well as her own behavior. He was stretching before the race, as it were. "Joyride before I go?"

"You really _are_ acting like a smitten schoolboy around his first crush," the young woman said as she closed up shop, settling everything into its place before answering him. She found that to be his opposite in a few things made life interesting. For example, he got impatient while waiting for an answer. One could tell by how he was flicking his mirrors here and there, watching her move around his metal body.

She opened his driver's side door, climbing into the seat. "This time, though, you're driving."

Laughing triumphantly, Jazz was carful not to peel out of the driveway, keeping sure that he was moving at legal speeds until they hit the highway. "So why'm I drivin' this time?"

"Because I just want to talk, and concentrate upon the answers you give me. Take me anywhere." She settled into the bucket-seat that the Transformers seemed to prefer to have in their interior, looking out through the windshield.

Jazz, by nature, wanted to be around people. So he began to go towards Boston, driving just a bit over the speed limit, but not _too_ much. One ticket a day was enough. While he drove, he waited for his girl to talk. It didn't take too long, even if she was talking quietly."Jazz, I know that this kind of subject is considered taboo by your culture, but I can't ask anyone else."

"Oh, psh. Taboo is only good if you're conventional. As you well know, Hawkeye, I'm not the conventional type." He was, by now, curious enough about what she wanted to ask that he felt he was going to blow a gasket. What could it possibly be? "Ask away."

"What . . . exactly . . . is a Spark?"

He replied immediately, wanting to keep her at peace. "Our souls. What truly makes us individuals, giving us morals, a feeling of greater purpose." He paused, thinking about how to word the rest of his explaination so that she had a good understanding of how it felt to _him_. "It's the phsysical knowledge that there is indeed somethin' so far greater than ourselves out there, keepin' track of us."

"So each Spark has it's own individual nature and bent?"

"Just like y'r human soul, hun."

"True . . . I'm sorry if I sound ignorant about this, Jazz, but Ratchet has this uncanny knack for anticipating my own questions and avoiding parts of conversations."

Jazz gracefully swerved around a slower-moving car, chuckling. "Oh, he's just like that. It's in his nature to avoid tender subjects. He hates being in emotional pain or in a place where he would have to compromise his careful emotional balance."

"But why is this a tender subject?"

Jazz knew that she hadn't been told of what had happened to him. He knew that she had no idea why Ratchet would worry that she would become interested in the nature of their souls. But since she had brought it up, he would answer her. The Autobot had made a promise with himself that he would always answer her with truth. "Las Vegas."

"Huh?"

"You know a relatively good amount about what really happened there."

"The parts that Mom and you guys would let me read or see, yeah. What about it?"

"That phrase, 'What happens in Vegas, _stays_ in Vegas' ain't entirely the best proverb t' go by. I didn't want t' fight there. I didn't want t' drag the Decepticons in there for that kind o' trouble." Pausing, he said quietly. "I didn't want t' die there."

Raevyn was so silent for so long that Jazz repeated it. "I died there, babe." He was uneasy as he spoke, but kept good control over his driving. Even though his voice trembled, he warmed the seat Raevyn sat upon, trying to comfort her that he was here, now, with her . . . for as long as she wanted him to be around her. "Megatron . . . ripped me in two, pulled out my Spark . . . an' killed me."

That was why none of the Autobots has wished to talk of wither subject: Las Vegas or their Sparks. Bother were vulnurabilities that had no defense whatsoever, and would pitch the owner of those emotions into a black pit of despair that would take them too much time to come back from. Their time was now taken up with allowing the humans to study them . . . _carefully_. Bumblebee had cursed out the government agent that had proposed it to them, literally gaining him a stern bark of a reprimand from Prime, and the "sentence" to go and watch over Sam while the young man was in school. In truth, it was a vacation to Bumblebee, a welcome respite to just bask in the warm light of their yellow sun.

Suddenly, Raevyn felt as if she had overstepped a huge, neon-green boundary line. The shame of asking something so profoundly sad and so personal was unbearable to her, and she could do nothing but look out the driver's window, trying her hardest not to cry. What an idiot she had been! She knew that it had been a touchy subject that shouldn't have been broached, but no, she had to go ahead and bring up such _pain_ that Jazz had _somehow_ lived through . . .

"Hawkeye? Aw, darlin' . . ." Pulling off the highway in Milton, the same town that Gloria went to school in, he reversed direction, heading back towards her home. Almost at the last moment, he instead chose to go back into the Blue Hills Reservation, driving through backroads to get into the middle of the dark, quiet solitude of the forest. He opened his door, and Raevyn shot out, running as fast as she could away from him, from the one who had charmed his way into her heart. She wanted to cry her shame out, to cry until the tears were gone. To cry until the grief passed her over.

Transforming, tracking her with his sensors, Jazz let her run for a short while before following her. He moved without error to the small clearing where she had collapsed. When he reached her, he sat and picked her up so very carefully, holding her against his chest, beginning to wordlessly soothe her, crooning, bowing his head over her figure to give the sensation that she was completely enfolded and held. To each apology for asking, he reassured her that she had the right to know; to each sob, he whispered that it was all right.

After a length of time that was too long for Raevyn to estimate, she finally just rested against the warm, silvery-white chestplate of her . . .

What _was_ he to her?

"Raevyn, listen t' me on this. You have _every_ right ta ask _any_ question of me. At any time, darlin'." Moving his head back to look at her, his blue visor glinting in the moonlight, the living robot sighed, then whispered so very tenderly, "Haven't ya let me do th' same of you?"

Mutely, Raevyn nodded, clinging to the metal grating on Jazz's chest. Closing her eyes, the last few tears slowly falling down her cheeks, she pressed her cheek to his torso. That was when she heard it. Slowly, so slowly, she looked up at the mechanoid, seeing him smile in such a melancholy manner before whispering, "I'm still scared . . . I have a sound dampening field around my Spark . . . so that it's harder to kill me again."

"But . . . h-how are you here?" Raevyn asked, her voice cracking and breaking over the syllables.

And as he let her listen to the beating of his Spark, Jazz thought upon that question, the very one that plagued his mind during sleepless nights. After another long moment, he whispered down against her hair, "I don't know."

.o.O.o.

Sleep had come to Raevyn without a sturggle, and so Jazz decided to creep through neighborhoods, cradling her against his chest. To transform around her would have woken her up. Then there was the problem of getting her into the passenger seat. He would not dare awaken her. Not when he could pause under a good-sized tree and look at the facinating young woman who had accepted him not at just face level, but wholly and completely. She accepted him so totally that she wanted to know _more_ about him. Even down to the gritty details.

Making it to the place Jazz was beginning to consider to be his second home, he was shocked to see Leukyn Stonemind Starwalker sitting upon the stairs with a cigarette slowly burning between his thumb and first finger, with a good amount of the filters in a plastic cup on the step beside him, and a lot of ash sitting between his customary beaten brown boots. Pushing his battered and paint-encrusted baseball cap a bit higher upon his forehead, Raevyn's father smiled in what seemed to Jazz to be relief and a bit of wonder. "When she wasn't answerin' 'er phone . . . I done got worried. Here, I'll bring 'er in."

"No . . . go up the stairs and I'll hand her to you," Jazz whispered, shaking his head, carefully shifting the sleeping young woman within his arms."I . . . I couldn't stand seeing you struggle t' carry her up."

"I ain't _that_ old enough ta pamper, Jazz."

"To me, you're just a kid, 'kay? Lemme dote upon ya a bit," the robot continued to whisper, watching the human obey his better logic and walk up the stairs to recieve his daughter. Once Raevyn was safe in her bed, comfortably asleep, Jazz bid a goodnight to the father, and went to open the garage door, sidling inside and closing it after himself with one finger. He didn't feel like sitting in alt mode at the moment. He could always walk out, transform, and then roll back in and close the door with the equivalent of a thought. Once settled, he sighed, opening a comm channel with Ratchet. "Medic?"

"Your vitals are fine," came the patient and distracted reply. "Stop your worrying."

"I told her how I died."

Ratchet was quiet for a long while in Cybertronian ways of reckoning. Then, very, very quietly, he asked, "How'd she take it?"

"Badly. Cried."

The medic sighed impatiently, beginning to lose his temper with the younger generation of bots. Well . . . technically, Jazz had been a misbegotten Sparkling, born and created between the recognized generation that Ratchet and Ironhide were a part of, and the generation that included Bumblebee. "I told you that you should have waited, telling her much later on about that part of what had happened. Augh. Where is she?"

"Here. At home. I'm staying here. I can't leave her right now." Jazz sighed, shaking his head and looking at the laptop still upon the workbench. He tilted his head and looked at it a bit longer, contemplating many things before finally hearing Ratchet's reply to his stating that he wasn't going anywhere.

"You're doing the right thing in that regard," the medic repeated a second time, finally getting the younger bot's attention. "But I still think that you're a fool for telling her so soon."

"Better that I told 'er now, then her askin' why I didn't tell her before!" He clenched a fist when he thought about how he had told her, releasing it to push the digits against his head in frustration, optics slowly dimming. "Even though . . . I could've said it a bit differently . . . But Ratchet . . . I worry now. I worry about death. I'm afraid . . . for the first time, Ratchet, I'm more afraid t' lose someone than I am to lose _my own life_."

The medic considered his words so very carefully before speaking. One wrong step would send the spy and soldier off into a world where only Bumblebee could bring him back from. There was a darkness of mood and spirit that Jazz had the capability of drowning within that there had been only three beings who had the ability to bring him back from: Bumblebee and each of the twins. But now, a possible fourth being could join the ranks of those whom Jazz considered to be his family of sorts . . . Raevyn. Sighing, having picked that trait up from the humans, Ratchet asked, "And if she were to be lost?"

His mid running through all the possibilities, Jazz came to a conclusion not too much longer after hearing the question. "I would not take on another human partner."

"Why is the bond between you two _already_ so firm?" the medic demanded, glaring out the window of their warehouse-like shelter into the new darkness that lay beyond it. "Sam and Bumblebee were able to reply upon each other because of the war! They _had_ to trust each other in a very short period of time. Why are you and Raevyn the same way?"

Jazz's voice was low and quiet. "I don't know."

"How can you even be _remotely_ close enough to refuse the _privilige_ of having a human partner after she passes on?! Humans are short-lived, and they accept that!"

"I don't know."

"Stop telling me that!"

"Then what _can_ I tell you?!" The small Autobot snapped, having reached the end of his rope and patience. The answers that Ratchet demanded were ones that he just didn't have. "I care for her! She needs me an' I need her an' I can't explain it any more than that!"

"But it's not--"

"Sshhhh!" Jazz hissed, hearing a door open. Specifically, the door that was from the second floor. He knew that Raevyn's sister was scheduled to leave for a horse show in the morning, and was worried about her pets, her horses. But she would see him if she walked by the garage! Frantically, he looked around himself, beginning to panic. There wasn't enough room to transform!

The door opened. It was Raevyn, her steps having sounded like her sister's when they were sleepy. Unable to turn his comm off without the mechanic knowing about it, Jazz just blinked at her. Raevyn's voice was still tired, quiet and cracking. "Jazz?"

"Yeah, babe?" Likewise, his voice was almost the same, save for the fact that it didn't crack over his words. That was a privilige that fleshed creatures had to deal with.

"Know what bothers me the most about know that you had died?"

"Tell me," came the soft, worried voice, one hand slowly turning upwards to half-beckon for Raevyn to join him. She did, and with slow steps, her blanket around her shoulders, moving to sit upon one of his thighs and leaning against his torso. The human was comforted by his solidity, his real, physical form.

"That I couldn't have been there to prevent it."

"Babe, there wasn't anthin' anyone could've done to prevent that."

"But . . ."

"Shh, sh-shh, go back to sleep . . . I'll hold ya. An' I'll be here when you wake up in the mornin'." His voice was wistful, and it was more than him wanting for her peace, Raevyn realized. He needed her unconditional comfort. He needed to forget that he had been dead, to forget the horrors of war. He wanted his innocence back.

"Jazz . . . you don't want to be alone."

The living machine wilted, his hand going to rest upon the garage floor. Shaking his head, his optics dimmed. "No."

He felt her climbing a bit higher to brush her hands over the grill on his chest. Then, the sensation of her embrace, unable to span even his width, but still trying. Shuddering very slightly, he whispered, "Thank you."

And after she fell deeply asleep again within the cradle of his arms, Jazz asked of Ratchet, "Can ya tell me why I care for her?"

The reply was slow in coming. "Not any more than I could tell you why she cares for you. Get some rest. You need it after all that you've been through today."

"Need it for what I'm about t' go through, too," came the soft reply. "Talk to you t'morrow."

"Yeah, son. Rest up."

.o.O.o.

Optimus Prime watched as Ratchet went from repairing a communicator to stilling his hands very, very gradually. Once he stopped moving completely, the leader knew that something was up. He walked over, standing beside the medic. Within nanoseconds, unbeknownst to Jazz, Prime came in on his words.

_"--ter that I told 'er now, then her askin' why I didn't tell her before!"_ There was a pause in the words of his best spy and a friend who helped make everything seem all right. Someone who could see the funny in every situation save for a select few occasions. Prime leaned against a pillar within the new structure that was built specifically with their height in mind, watching Ratchet. The sometimes-emergency vehicle watched his leader in return, silent, waiting for the lieutenant to continue.

_"Even though . . . I could've said it a bit differently . . . But Ratchet . . . I worry now. I worry about death. I'm afraid . . . for the first time, Ratchet, I'm more afraid t' lose someone than I am to lose my own life."_

Neither moved until the last word was spoken, and the line cut. Ironhide looked over to them. "Should I ask?"

"Can you explain how two individuals can become close in a shockingly short amount of time? Say, a month?"

" . . . no . . ."

"Then don't ask."

Unruffled, the warrior shook his head, going back to his mock target practice. After another span of time, not too short, not too long, Sam came walking up to them from where he had been settling his things back in. His second home was a small house on the property that the government had deemed fit for use for the Autobots. When he wanted to be free from his parents, he had a place that he knew he could crash at around the Autobots. Out of a week, on average, he spent four nights with them, the other three at his parent's house. Sam looked up at them, worried for a moment at seeing only three of his five friends. "Didn't you say that Jazz would be back by now?"

Crouching, Prime nodded. "Yes . . . however, he is needed to watch over a person who is of great importance to us all. Would you prefer that we go to him?"

"Well, sure, I guess. Mikayla can't come, though . . . she's got college finals." The young man sighed and shook his head. "I don't think that she'd mind missing out on this. We've caused her to miss enough classes as it is. Besides, I want to see what this surprise you said you had for me is."


	6. Chapter Six

Generation Breakers: Ignition  
By Sinead

Chapter Six  
Relevant Song: Sarah McLachlan "Fear"

.o.O.o.

Sam _stared_. He could do nothing _but_ stare, and stare _hard_. It was a sight both beautiful and horrifying, heavenly and what he assumed he could only see in Hell.

The young woman was half-engulfed in the car, her shorts riding a bit high, her tank-top hitching up to her waist . . . An untanned and porcelean-skinned beauty at its best. Tendrils of her black, black hair fell free from under the bandana she hid it under. When she reached out to one side to pick up a tool that looked almost hazardous to use, he saw that she was grimy up to mid-forearms, and odd splatters of grease and who-knew what else above that line.

But what made this whole heavenly scene of watching a beautiful girl bending over into an engine turn into something he would have seen in hell . . .

Was that the engine belonged to Bumblebee. And with a few parts missing.

"No! No, stop!" he yelled, bolting out of Ironhide's passenger door without stopping to close it. He stopped dead in his tracks when she turned around. The look on her face would have frozen the blood of any man. Her eyes were glittering, hardening.

But she spoke kindly. "Bumbles, how's that feel in there?"

An affirmative and languid beep answered her, followed by his still-rarely-used voice, the smooth tones still hitching over a few syllables. "Better than . . . the last time. Mm."

Raevyn laughed heartily, thumping his side, just above his left-front tire, had you been facing him while he was facing you in car mode. "That's right, luv! That's because now I know the specifics of where things usually build up in Transformer bodies are. Not just car engines." Turning, she tossed a pure-silver-clean piece of equipment to the young man. He caught it, fumbled it, caught it in his hands again, then looked at her. She grinned a touch maliciously. "Spike, wazzit you got in your hands?"

He was still in shock at seeing a few pieces of his friend littering the area around the bright yellow Camaro. But before he could say or do anything else, she giggled, shocking him. Her face transformed into a radiant smile, kind and warm. "Jazzman, you didn't tell me he was so serious."

"Sorry, babe," Jazz said with a smile, leaning around the corner of the garage, his hands frittering around with a component that only a Cybertronian could fix, and Ratchet had just arrived, having left it up to the spy to help Raevyn. Besides. He knew enough about emergency repairs to keep up with her. "But I guess that I forgot to mention it. You know. So that I could laugh later on?"

"Mm-hm. Well. Try to remember these things, willya?" She tossed a spare washer at Jazz's head, not shocked in the least when he batted it aside, laughing at her. Turning back to look at Sam, she said, "Call me Hawkeye. You're Spike Witwicky."

"_Sam_. Where'd you get that outrageously odd nickname?"

"Uh . . . Because 'Sam' is too bland for someone who's partner's name is Bumblebee. It doesn't balance out. Besides. I couldn't remember your real name for a while." Winking, she tossed a clean rag onto Bumblebee's windshield. Her hands went back into the engine, and Sam watched as she deftly pulled an odd, blackened and unidentitifyble component out of nowhere to hold up, snarl at, and toss into a tub of liquid a few feet away. When Sam went to investigate, she snapped her arm out to grab his collar, dragging him back. "Acid bath. You'll get burned. Hand me the three-fourths ratchet over there."

"So many comments, and the medic woudn't catch any of them."

"Don't say that, Jazz!" the mechanic admonished through a window of the garage the Autobot often slept in. "You don't know what he does and doesn't understand about the human nature of jokes!"

"Getting better at it," the transformed medic said, walking up to the garage to sit and watch Raevyn's hands as she worked. "Once I've seen you clean out Jazz and Ironhide, I'll consider allowing you to do the same for myself and Optimus."

"Trust me," Jazz said, moving around the small building to lounge beside the medic. "I just got a semi-cleaning a couple o' weeks ago . . . _purred_, baby! Just . . . mmm! Girl's got wonderfully capable-- Ow!"

Hefting another wrench, Raevyn said, "I can hit you in the same place with a heavier one. Don't freak the boy out too much."

Sam just _stared_. But as Ironhide growled, "I'm next, Jazz. You've had a month here to get this done," Raevyn tugged on the young man's sleeve to watch what she was doing, pointing out what she was disconnecting and why. When she had to pull out the odd thing that had been tossed into the acid bath, she had Sam take care of that, using tongs to pull it from the liquid and hold it out while she sprayed it down with water, then set it out to dry. That took about half an hour, within which Jazz and Ironhide had continued to bicker about who would be next. Putting a small amout of lubricant upon the joints, Raevyn walked out of the garage to look up at them. "Ironhide."

He "lightly" tapped Jazz's shoulder to quiet the smaller bot. "Yeah."

"My beast of a sister is at a horse show, or convention or something. So the indoor horse rink is okay for you to rest in tonight. I won't be able to get to cleaning you until tomorrow. Jazz will be after you." Raevyn had started to put washers onto the piece as she talked.

Able to relax around the human, the old war-dog just grinned, genuinely looking forward to getting a thorough cleaning. "What that boy's getting . . . that completely detailed treatment of where you know the real problems of build-up to end up clogging . . . well . . . mm-mm. I'd wait a week fer."

"You're really starting to get a local accent, aren't'cha?" Raevyn laughed, turning back into the garage where Sam was waiting almost impatiently for her to piece Bumblebee back together.

"Sure thing! 'S fun. Heard Jazz's accent get a bit odder here an' there. Thought I'd add in to the annoyance factor for Prime since it's peacetime again. He needs the entertainment." Sitting, the black Autobot looked up at the sky, which was still afternoon-bright, for all that it was edging towards sundown. "You've been workin' on Bumblebee all this time?"

"Nope. He got here at noon, and I started on him just as soon as my sister left. Dad's in the house, doing an online consultation about the next karate tournament his _dojo_ is participating in." Grabbing the last few parts to put back in, Raevyn paused, then smiled unexpectedly at Sam. But her words were like a death knell. "You get to put him back together again. And no excuses. You're his partner, and it's far past time that you've learned how to make emergency repairs."

Thankfully, he was able to do so under her careful eye.

.o.O.o.

Sam stood next to Bumblebee, totally at ease with his odd friend. "So . . . none of that hurt?"

Shaking his head, the first Autobot on Earth gave a reassuring look to his human friend, indicating that everything was all right with a light pat to the boy's back.

"Doesn't hurt to get any of that pulled outta you or put back in?"

Not having any way to tell the adopted little brother of his Spark that he was all right, Bumblebee looked to Optimus, shrugged, and sat, legs limp over the grass of the deserted nighttime clearing they had claimed. They were in the preservation land again, enjoying the untamable nature that rested not even half an hour's drive from Downtown Boston. Sam walked up to stand beside "his" Camaro, then leaned against the arm that supported the large torso. Bumblebee spoke, his voice still hitching oddly here and there. "Everything is . . . all right. Hawkeye was doing me . . . a rather _large_ favor."

Optimus had been admiring the landscape of their new home. He ambled over, totally at ease and relaxed in the privacy that they had found in the mainly-forested and oddly-placed countryside after dark. They couldn't be more than twenty minutes away from Downtown Boston. "Sam, we do not feel the same type of pain that humans feel. You are unable to pinpoint down to the millimeter the extent of a wound. We can. And we only get one single transmission of where the injury we had sustained is, then store it, rather than experiencing constant reminders. Can you understand this concept?"

It seemed like a better neural-transmitting system than that of the humans' own kind. "Yeah . . . so what about someone digging around in your engine? Is that somehow different?"

A new, still somewhat unfamiliar voice broke in. "You know how you'd get really, really sweaty, gritty and look like you've been through a war, then you take a long, hot shower? Know that feeling afterwards of feeling really good and on top of the world?"

Turning to see Jazz, within whose arms sat Raevyn, the young woman who had spoken, Sam nodded to her. "Yeah."

"That's all that I had been doing. I was the shower."

"But . . . you . . ."

She looked at him dead-on, wiating for him to finish his thought. He blurted it out. "You _hit_ him!"

The oddly-sounding snort of amusement came from Bumblebee himself. Raevyn grinned. "Well, he started the fight in the first place. If he hadn't tightened the bolts so hard, I wouldn't have to half-beat the poor sod to death!"

Optimus chuckled, sitting beside the humans, his protective and faithful friend, and his personal spy and cultural expert. Raveyn indicated that she wished to sit elsewhere, and Jazz put her upon what was now a customary perch when Optimus was around. She settled upon the leader's knee, one leg hanging down off of the side of his leg, the other knee pulled up so that she could rest her chin upon it. She grinned, realizing that the hight equivalent of where she was sitting upon was as if she was sitting upon the top of a particularly large coach bus. With a yawn, she let both feet dangle off the side, unafraid of the height.

Jazz thought about something, then walked up to Raevyn to touch her foot lightly. "Hey . . . you're considered an adult, right?"

"You bet I am," Raevyn replied, grinning.

"So then why haven't you looked for a mate, or a love-friend or what do you call them . . ."

"Jazz!" Sam yelped, shocked that he had dared ask something so personal of what he considered an attractive young woman.

But Raevyn, again, was laughing and in a very easygoing manner. "Hey, Spike, chill! Jazz has more than the right to ask me antthing. It's the same for me . . . _I'm_ able to ask _him_ anything." She turned to Jazz. "Because they'd infringe upon my time learning from Ratchet and you. Maybe once I'm secure enough in knowing you guys . . . maybe . . . but not until then."

"Good answer," Prime rumbled, watching the star-riddled sky. "But we do not wish to complicate your lives any more than we already have."

"Complicate?" Sam asked, then shook his head. "Optimus, seriously. You only made mine simpler."

"Agreed on that! Although you _do_ manage to cause my mother to occasionally curse your existance." She followed Optimus' gaze up to the heavens.

"Yes, but y'r father just _loves_ us," Jazz amended, grinning. "I believe that he enjoys drivin' your mother to her wit's end 'bout us."

"Who're you kidding? He loves tormenting her. Especially since she knows that he's going to win on issues about you guys."

"Such as?" Optimus prompted, looking down so that his gaze met hers.

It was so very odd to be able to read compassion upon the metal face. So very strange to be able to see the play of emotions, the thoughts that somehow made it to the forefront of their minds. Raevyn never tired of staring at them, which thankfully, they were fine with. "Oh, the usual stuff . . . why you act more like people and not like the emotionless and generally mindless robots that we've been able to come up with on our own."

"Nmph. Joy. That one came up again?" Jazz groaned, leaning against Prime's leg to look up at his human partner, arms crossed over his chest. "For a Fed, she's really, _really_ stupid in some regards."

"Gee, never noticed," Raevyn's tone just dripped with sarcasm as she looked back down at her partner. Sighing, she rubbed at her eyes, tired from both her talk and emotional breakdown with Jazz the night before as well as pulling Bumblebee apart earlier in the day. So she swung down to sit upon Jazz's shoulder, resting an arm around the back of his neck to keep her balance.

In return, Jazz reached a hand up to steady her, keeping his emotions behind his visor, not daring to lift it at the moment. He was insecure at the strangest moments. Here he was, next to the largest and most powerful Autobot, beside one of the best and most inventive young fighters who was able to fend off the Decepticon Barricade, who was notorious for being a horrific fighter . . . And Jazz was still afraid. Sure, his best friend was a weapons specialist and a melee expert, but . . . it didn't reassure him.

Raevyn looked at his face, saw the absense of all emotions and feeling, then looked up to Optimus, her own face showing her worry and the knowledge that Jazz needed reassurance. The leader nodded once, resting his hand upon his first lieutenant's back, fingers curling around the much-smaller arm and side. There were a few things that he had picked up from the humans, and that he had known Jazz would have as well. One of those things that both species shared was the need to be reassured. On some occasions for humans, that reassuring wish was able to be fulfilled through contact between individuals. Touch was so very important to Jazz, who always had been untouchable, distant individual who enjoyed the occasional fun of pranking and teasing. He didn't like to be touched . . . before.

Now, however, he leaned into the contact. Bumblebee scooted himself over without dislodging Sam from his leg, sitting beside the smallest of the first wave of Autobots, barely half a foot between them. Before long, Ironhide came back, his own human partner upon his shoulder, hanging on easily. Neither said much, but the black Autobot sat behind Jazz, checking over his cannons and cleaning particles from places that they shouldn't have been, while Captain Lennox walked around the small grouping to take up what could be considered the "point" position. He, also checked over his sidearm before holstering it and looking out over the trees. It wasn't more than five minutes from Jazz's leaning against Prime's leg that Ratchet came and stood behind them all, silently watching.

Nothing had to be said. No words needed to be spoken. All that they needed was to enjoy the life that they had been given, the life that had been regained and renewed. As for Jazz's insecurities, he had to answer them for himself. He knew that, too. It was only up to him to take care of his own problems, and it was for his own sake that he learn how to deal with the disconcerting and horrifying memories and feelings.

Raevyn loosely curled her arms around his head, sighing and just resting upon him. His hand didn't move from where he had gently placed it around her waist, nor did he do anything to try to dislodge the group around him. It was just so hard . . . not knowing how he had come back, not knowing why . . . But he was grateful to have the friends he did, the _leader_ he did, who understood him so much better than he understood himself.

He rested within their company.

.o.O.o.

Leukyn walked out of his house to see Lennox and Ironhide talking in low tones. He had met the Autobot so many times before, but the human was a new face to him. Coming up to them, he nodded to the Army officer before looking at Ironhide. "Hawkeye called an' said that Jazz had been feelin' down. Anythin' I c'n do tah help?"

Ironhide shook his head, sitting so that he was closer to their height. "I wish that there could be somthin' you could do, but it just ain't that easy. It's sumthin' that's gotta do with him, his emotions, an' your girl bein' able to help him with the problem."

Lennox was about to open his mouth to say something, when Leukyn interupted him. "I'm Leukyn Starwalker, Raevyn's father."

Nodding, the proper reply was made. Lennox then looked around at the property. "I'm here to help co-ordinate a project so that the Autobots can have a place here upon the East coast that they would be able to . . . ah . . ."

"Rest . . . hide . . . there's more'n one reason why we wish to have a base out here." The metal war dog grinned, fiddling with his hand and temporarily rewiring a few components within it. "Prime sent out a message that we are here. More will be comin', and we need a decentralized center of operations. The Decepticons are not all dead. We just disposed of most of those who had been the closest to Megatron."

"So what's the plan?" Leukyn asked, his voice showing how very curious he was to hear about what they could possibly be planning. "And how will it help make Jazz feel better?"

Lennox answered his question with another question. "What do you know about automobiles?"

"I'm a mechanic by trade. Taught Hawkeye everything she knows."

"What about auto detailing?" Lennox was curious to know the limitations of the project that the military and the Autobots had in mind.

"You've seen my handiwork on both Jazz and Bumblebee." Leukyn said with a grin.

"That was you?"

"Yeah. That was me, boyo." He looked up to Ironhide, pulling his long hair back into a ponytail again. "Transform and get your tailpipe into the garage so I can get yours done." He grinned to the much-younger man. "I'm guessing that you're the boy who this old man decided to finish bringing up right, eh?"

Laughing, Lennox nodded. "Yeah. He thinks that I have something in me that he can bring out."

"Don't we all." Glaring up at Ironhide, Leukyn barked, "Didn't I tell you to transform? Don't make me find Prime!"

Ironhide grumbled. "And we all know that I listen _so_ well to him . . ."

.o.O.o.

_**Author's Note:**__ It took me about seven minutes to decide recently that it would be a good idea to split this story into a series. I have waaaay too many chapters to fit into one single story. So here is the end of Generation Breakers! Next up is book two: Generation Breakers: . Please enjoy!_


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